The Boss's Daughter

by J. T. Marie

  I know she means her father, but I also don’t think she’s talking to me because she expects an answer. She just wants to vent.

  “I have to marry,” she continues, “I know I do. We’ve been over this before. But he said he’d leave it up to me to pick who and now he’s gone and invited some Yankee stranger to supper. Do you know the man?”

  “Boss Daddy?” The words are out before I realize she’s no longer talking about him. “Oh, wait. Charlie? Miss Barbour’s nephew.”

  The cart’s wheels roll unevenly, and when Miss Lucille turns towards me, the bumps in the road nudge her a little closer than I’d like. But there’s no more room on my other side to scoot over. And I’d be lying if I said the warmth of her body alongside mine was unpleasant.

  “Do you know him?” she asks again.

  I sort of shrug and concentrate on the reins and the road I can see between the horse’s ears. “Not really. Just stuff I’ve heard in town.”

  “What sort of stuff?” she persists.

  I spare her a quick glance and find she’s even closer than I thought she’d be. Her chin hovers mere inches above my shoulder, and her eyes are like twin pools of clear water I could dive into on such a hot day. What are we talking about again?

  Right. Charlie.

  Clearing my throat, I turn my attention back to the horse and tug on the reins to correct our course. “Nothing real good, Miss Lucille. If I’m being honest.”

  I feel her hand touch my knee and I jerk hard on the reins again. The horse whinnies in displeasure as my whole body sparks beneath her fingers. “Can’t you call me Lucy when it’s just the two of us?”

  I should say no. It isn’t proper, and it might make some think we were too familiar with each other. But how often will we be alone together, anyway? We were in the barn earlier, true, but we weren’t supposed to be. And if her father’s intent on seeing her married off, she soon won’t have much time to pester me around the ranch.

  As if you don’t like the attention, a voice inside me whispers.

  I flush at the thought and push it aside. “Lucy,” I say softly, my voice barely audible over the sound of the horse’s hooves. I turn to find her smiling up at me with delight.

  “See?” she asks. “That wasn’t so hard, now was it, Mr. Nat?”

  “Just Nat,” I tell her.

  Dimples appear high up on her cheeks, underscoring her eyes. “Is Mr. Nat your father?” At my frown, she adds, “That’s what a lot of guys say, trying to be funny. Daddy’s the mister, not them.”

  “My father’s name is Horace.” I don’t add that I was named after his mother. She doesn’t need to know that.

  Chapter 10

  The ride into Junction doesn’t take too long. I focus on keeping the horse aimed straight ahead and try to ignore Miss Lucille’s closeness. I don’t usually think of my body, at least not in relation to anyone else’s—I live as a man and have never been questioned about it. But having Miss Lucille’s hand rest so lightly on my leg makes me all too aware of the blood pulsing at my crotch, and my breasts ache where they rub against my starchy undershirt. I’ve never felt this way about another, male or female, and it’s a mite unsettling. I’m more than a little relieved when we pass Miss Barbour’s boarding house at the edge of town and propriety makes Miss Lucille scoot away from me a little.

  In front of the general store, I rein in the horse and jump down off the seat to tie up at the hitching post. I expect Miss Lucille to follow suit; she’s nothing if not independent, and she seemed in quite a hurry to leave the ranch behind. But when I turn from the post I find her still perched prettily on the seat, hands folded in her lap, her head turned pointedly away. I see her gaze flick my way and blush. “Just a moment, ma’am,” I say, hurrying to her side of the cart. I offer her my hand. “Let me help get down from there.”

  “Why, thank you, Mr. Nat.” So we’re back to formalities again, though her lips curve into a secret smile before she tamps it down. “I’ll only be a moment or two. Would you accompany me inside?”

  How can I say no?

  I trail after her into the general store. The moment I step inside, I remove my hat and linger by the tobacco counter. The store is owned by a mismatched couple named Steinwitz, a portly German woman and her stick-thin Jewish husband. The missus speaks very little English, but watches over the store with the sharp eyes of a hawk, while he minds the store all day and spends his evenings at Stubs’ swilling beer. As soon as he sees Miss Lucille, Mr. Steinwitz comes out from around the counter, all smiles. Of course he is—Boss Daddy is footing her bill. “Miss Tate, good afternoon,” he says with a low bow. He barely glances my way. “I got a new bolt of cloth in just this week. If you want to take a look?”

  This might take a while. I linger as I move up and down the narrow aisles, looking at everything and nothing in particular. I’m only half-listening as Miss Lucille rattles off a list of things she needs—toiletries and sewing items in addition to canned foods and kitchen staples. Flour and sugar, salt and spices, balms and ointments, cheesecloth for poultices, soap and lye, basic household items Boss Daddy is too busy to look after. As she shops, I study the shelves and try to ignore the sound of her voice and the way it tickles through me. I sneak glances her way, knowing I shouldn’t but unable to help myself. Even here, in the dingy general store, among battered shelves stocked with common, everyday items, she looks like a princess out of place. A rose among thorns. I remember the feel of her hand on my leg and my whole body flushes at the memory.

  Stop it.

  I have to get some air. “I’ll be outside,” I tell her, heading for the door. She’s deep in conversation with Mr. Steinwitz and barely nods to acknowledge me. I slip outside and lean against the cart, drinking in the still afternoon sun. I’ll be happy when I’m back at work, away from Miss Lucille and the strange feelings she awakens in me.

  As I wait for her, I hear a door slam down the street, back the way we came. Turning, I watch Cheap Charlie hurry down the front steps of the boarding house, a spring in his step that tells me Miss Barbour must’ve given him a few coins and they’re already burning a hole in his pocket. He starts down the boardwalk, not really paying attention to where he’s going, but when he looks up and sees me, he scowls and crosses the street. I smirk as he angles straight for the saloon. Looks like Maddy might get to meet him sooner rather than later.

  Behind me, the door to the general store swings open. Mr. Steinwitz has his arms full of goods, so I hurry to help. Together we pack all of Miss Lucille’s purchases into the back of the cart while she stands to one side, lips pressed tightly together. I think she’s watching us but when I give her a grin, I find she’s staring after Charlie instead. Something wholly unfamiliar to me twists in my heart and I turn my attention back to filling the cart, grateful for the distraction. Of course she’d be drawn to Charlie. He’s new to town, someone different, and her father’s already piqued her interest. I’m a hired hand, fooling myself because she’s been nice to me lately.

  When the cart is loaded, Mr. Steinwitz tips his hat and hurries back to the cool duskiness of his store and out of the midday heat. I wait by Miss Lucille’s side of the cart to help her into the seat. Her gaze lingers on Stubs’, but Charlie is long gone. As she settles into position, she says, “I take it that was Charlie Barbour.”

  That pain in my chest twists a little. I’m not jealous, I tell myself as I climb up to sit beside her. I’m not. “Yes, ma’am, looked like it to me.”

  She scowls. “I can only guess why he was in such a hurry to get to the saloon this early in the day.”

  I know she’s talking about Maddy, so I suggest, “Well, maybe he was thirsty.”

  She sighs and gives me a look that says she’s not as dumb as I might think. “I doubt his need has anything to do with drink. Is it too much to ask for a faithful man? Someone who hasn’t seen the inside of Maddy’s bed chamber, perhaps? I know such men exist.”

  With a laugh, I point out, “Not in Junct
ion.”

  “There’s you,” she says.

  I laugh again, sure she’s teasing, but the way she stares at me, so open, so daring, so bold, makes my laughter dry up in the back of my throat. Because I have no response, I focus on the horse and the road and say nothing on our return trip to the ranch.

  Chapter 11

  I guide the cart around the back of the main house, pulling up close to the porch so the kitchen servants won’t have far to carry the spoils from Miss Lucille’s shopping trip. As I tie up the reins to keep the horse from straying, Miss Lucille covers my hand with her own. Her touch is soft and warm, gentle, as if she’s afraid I might spook away from her.

  I look around quickly to make sure the yard is empty, and no one watches us from the kitchen windows. “Miss Lucille, you really shouldn’t—”

  “Lucy,” she corrects with a smile. “You said you’d call me Lucy when we were alone.”

  I should point out that we shouldn’t be alone, but for some reason, I can’t seem to form the words.

  With a glance behind me at the main house, she leans closer and says, “I’ve really enjoyed our time together today, Nat.”

  Her eyes are wide and clear; one false move and I could drown in them. Carefully, I say, “I just rode with you into town.”

  “I meant earlier.” Then, as if I might not know what she means, she adds, “In the barn.”

  I clear my throat and pull my hand out from under hers. My heart races, my throat is dry, and my skin feels hot and itchy. It’s almost as if I’ve taken too much sun, but I know it isn’t the day that’s doing this to me; it’s her. Softly, I admit, “I enjoyed it, too.”

  She gives me a smile that threatens to set me aflame. “Maybe we can do it again sometime.”

  “I’ve work to do,” I say, feeling a little relieved at the excuse. I’m afraid what might happen between us if we’re alone together for too long. I’m afraid what I might feel for her, and what that feeling will do to me.

  “I mean when you aren’t working, silly.” She smooths down her skirt and ducks her head in a coquettish gesture. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was flirting with me. “Maybe…I don’t know, maybe we can have a picnic or something one day.”

  Not if the other ranch hands will find out. It’ll surely get back to Boss Daddy then. “That might not be such a good idea. I mean, the others might say something to your father…”

  Suddenly she clutches my hand and presses it against my lower belly, inches from the ache blossoming in my groin. “Saturday, then. Daddy’s leaving on business Friday night and won’t be back for a few days. I’ll tell the servants I’m going out on my own, and we can meet somewhere no one will find us.”

  I hesitate. “I don’t know. He’ll have my hide if he finds out…”

  Miss Lucille’s lips twist into a determined bow. “I’m going to be upfront with you, Nat. I like you, I really do. And I think maybe you might like me, too, if only you’ll stop worrying about what my daddy might think. Let me handle him. I want you thinking about me instead.”

  Before I can answer, she leans in close and plants a quick, soft kiss in the corner of my mouth. If I thought I was hot before, I’m on fire now, my whole skin ablaze from the balls of my feet to the roots of my hair. Without moving back, Miss Lucille whispers, “Can you do that, Nat? Can you just think of me?”

  Her words tickle over my hairless cheek, as sweet as her brief kiss. Quickly I nod, yes, oh hell yes. I’m pretty sure I’m not going to be able to think of anything else but her for quite a long time.

  Chapter 12

  As the weekend draws near, I’m sure Miss Lucille will change her mind. If Boss Daddy knew me as Natalie, there would be no problem with us picnicking together. If I wore a dress instead of pants, no one would care if we spent time together.

  But ranch hand Nat Allen has to abide by the social convention, and it isn’t right for an unmarried couple to be alone together. Even if we were courting—which we’re not, at least, I hope we’re not—even then we’d need to have a chaperone with us. There is no such thing as friendship between men and women. Not with an upstanding young woman like Miss Lucille.

  Maybe she thinks I’m going to try to talk my way out of it, because she doesn’t linger around the water pump when I wash up in the evenings. If I see her, she nods and smiles, but nothing more. No one else seems to notice the way my skin flushes whenever I see her, or the way my tongue gets all twisted up in knots, or the way my heart thuds so loudly, I swear it can be heard for miles around. Even Chavez, who’s always quick to find a reason to tease the hands, doesn’t say anything. When he asked where I was after the stable was finished, I told him Boss Daddy sent me into town with Miss Lucille, and his knowing grin scared me at first. Then he shook his head and said, “Boss Daddy, su palabra es ley. What he says, goes. Who wants to wait while a woman does her shopping? No wonder you were gone all day.”

  Friday morning, the ranch is already buzzing with activity when I walk through the front gates. The coach is out front of the main house, a couple of ranch hands hitching up the horses while servants stack luggage on the porch. The bags will eventually make their way to the top of the coach, where the cloth top will sag beneath their weight. One of the men working with the horses is Paco; he sees me approach and tosses a strap my way. “Help me out, señor,” he says as I fumble with the leather. “The coach needs to be ready to go in a half hour but I haven’t even eaten yet!”

  I take his place and help the other guy secure the horses. People flutter in and out of the main house, mostly servants scurrying out of Boss Daddy’s way. His boots clomp on the wooden porch as he paces back and forth, calling out last minute instructions. “Where’s my humidor?” he hollers, and someone hurries back into the house for his cigar box. “I need my cattle records. Where are my files? Toombs, are my files packed?”

  The aged manservant is the only person not infected by the frenzy. He goes through the luggage methodically, checking and rechecking to make sure everything’s in order. He tucks the cigars into one leather satchel, then pulls out a fat portfolio stuffed with paper from another. “Files are here, sir,” he drawls. The faster everyone else moves around him, the slower he seems to go.

  Boss Daddy checks the pocket watch he wears on a chain at his ample waist and gasps. “We’ll miss the train! Lucy! I’m heading out! Where is that woman, anyway?”

  She comes running from around the side of the house, holding up her dress so she doesn’t trip. “Daddy!” she cries, wrapping her arms around his girth. As he turns her around, she sees me and winks. “Oh, Daddy, four whole days? I’m going to miss you.”

  “Everything will be fine,” he assures her. “I feel safe knowing you’ll be in charge. Unless you think I need to leave Toombs behind to help you out?”

  Miss Lucille shakes her head quickly as she smooths down her dress. “Oh no, Daddy. You’ll need him much more than I will. Besides, he’s already packed! I’ll be fine here with Nana minding the house and Mr. Chavez minding the men.”

  Her gaze slips to me and she smiles quickly, then tamps it down before her father sees. He’s hollering orders again, and I don’t want to get roped into helping load the luggage, so I sneak off around back. Boss Daddy’s departure may disrupt the household, but Chavez will make sure the ranch stays on schedule. As much as I’d like to stay behind and dawdle in the hopes of seeing Miss Lucille smile my way again, I have work to do.

  Chapter 13

  Friday evening is payday, and we ride in from the fields a good half hour before quitting time to wash up and get in line. Just because Boss Daddy is out of town doesn’t mean we don’t get paid. Miss Lucille does all the accounting; all her father does is hand us our money and shake our hands as thanks for a job well done. Today Miss Lucille comes out of the main house and heads straight for me as if I’m not halfway back from the front of the line. With a slight smirk, she says, “Mr. Nat, I could use your assistance. Can you help me get these men paid?”

/>   I expect some ribbing and jostling, but there isn’t any because most of the ranch hands wouldn’t be able to help Miss Lucille out if she asked them. Today she hands out the pay herself, and she needs someone to mark it down in her ledger. Of everyone gathered in the hot, dusty yard in front of the bunkhouse, I suspect Miss Lucille and I are the only ones who can read and write. So no one says anything as I follow her into the main house.

  The room where Miss Lucille keeps her records is across the hall from Boss Daddy’s study. She leads me to the small table where she already has a ledge book open, waiting. “Everyone is listed here, see?”

  She shows me the book and I see a list of names down the left-hand column. Beside each name is a dollar amount. The rest of the row is a series of small, neat checks in dated columns. “When the worker comes in, I’ll say his name and you find it on the list. Tell me what to pay him and I’ll count it out. As he leaves, put a check to show he’s paid.”

  She turns and gives me a warm smile. I’m leaning over her shoulder to look at the ledger and don’t move away fast enough; her arm bumps against my chest and I hunch forward, hoping she didn’t feel anything. Her smile widens slightly, and beneath her lids, her blue eyes smolder. “I’m really looking forward to our picnic tomorrow,” she whispers. “But maybe you can stay for supper tonight?”

  “I really shouldn’t,” I say, taking a quick step back.

  Her hand touches my wrist. “All these men are going straight to the saloon as soon as they get paid. You don’t really want to go with them, do you?”

  On paydays, Stubs’ gets too crowded for my tastes. I usually ask him to pack me up a sandwich or something and take it back to my room. The thought of staying behind at the ranch to share a meal with Miss Lucille is tempting, but I don’t want to give anyone any reason to talk. “It wouldn’t be proper…”

  “Oh, pish,” she says with a shake of her head. “Nana will be right there with us. Nothing untoward will happen. You have my promise, Nat Allen, that I won’t tarnish your honor if you dine with me tonight.”